


you know about the old me

by oh_la_fraise



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Amnesia, Angst with a Happy Ending, Grief/Mourning, Hospitalization, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magical Realism, Memory Alteration, Near Death Experiences, Whump, magical realism in the sense that magic is common not that this makes any logical sense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 21:00:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21855217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oh_la_fraise/pseuds/oh_la_fraise
Summary: David marks his time as before, during, and after Patrick.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 51
Kudos: 255
Collections: Schitt's Creek Open Fic Night 2.0





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi--please read the tags carefully. I've tagged for everything I believe relevant, but please note this fic deals with a lot of grief.
> 
> Title is from Taxi by Exes; I wasn’t in love with it but this song kept playing and had a line about brown eyes making me feel right, which seemed like fate.

When David wakes up, Patrick is still snoring softly beside him. It’s rare that David wakes up before Patrick, so he likes to take in the view when he can. Any minute now, the alarm will go off and Patrick, annoyingly cheerful morning person that he is, will be up, singing and running around and generally being only mildly tolerable until David has his first cup of coffee.

But sleeping Patrick—he’s nice. Well, all versions of Patrick are nice, but sleeping Patrick is one of David’s favorites. It’s cliche, but he looks so much younger when he sleeps, the smile lines around his eyes and mouth smoothed out. David, on days he’s feeling particularly self-congratulatory, thinks that some of those lines didn’t appear until long after Patrick moved to Schitt’s Creek. David is looking forward to spending the years cataloguing the changes in his face. 

When Patrick finally wakes up, David is looking forward to teasing him, but there are circles under his eyes. They've both been running hard lately, with the wedding so close and the store is in a busy stretch; David wishes he could still afford the wellness potion that Beyoncé uses, but they'll have to settle for a day off next week.

“Just tired,” Patrick says, kissing his cheek when David asks if he feels okay. Morning breath kisses are only acceptable when neither of them have brushed their teeth. 

While Patrick is in the shower, David slips a little paper heart in Patrick’s wallet that he’s spelled to expand when it’s opened. Just a silly little thing, something that David finds a little cringy but that always makes Patrick smile, because David is in love and engaged so he can be a little cheesy. He hates when they're apart in a way that David never imagined he would feel, but he feels a little better that Patrick apparently is the same; David would bet money there’s a goofy note in his bag he’ll discover when he goes for lunch.

Patrick drops him off at the store and then heads off. Patrick does the Wednesday vendor pickups, because the Amish will never stop digging at David but their butter is really good so he makes Patrick deal with them—and it’s a normal day, customers coming in waves. Gwen buys a disturbing amount of edible body oil, and he manages a new record of getting Roland in and out of the store. When he closes for lunch and digs his wallet out for cash for the Cafe, there’s a doodle of what he thinks is supposed to be Patrick hugging what he can vaguely recognize as himself. 

Then a police officer walks in, and David thinks _they caught the robber!_ then _what am I being arrested for?_ then, in a more Patrick-like tone of voice, _he’s probably shopping; this is a store where people can buy things._

He looks—sad. “Are you David Rose—Patrick Brewer’s emergency contact?”

\------------------------------

Patrick is. . .

Patrick looks pale. He’s always white—the man could get a sunburn from a lamp—but now he looks like the life has been drained out of him. Like it’s just machines keeping him alive, instead of the things that make him Patrick.

The doctor says words like _brain death_ and _quick and painless_ and _organ donor_. It filters in through a haze; his Mom is rubbing his arm, trying to comfort him, and that scares David most of all, because if Moira is being comforting, shit has really hit the fan. 

The nurse hands him a bag, and David stares down at it, bewildered. Patrick’s effects, she says, like they’re in a Victorian romance novel. It’s light—the Gaps’ finest jeans and button down, sheared down the middle and spotted with blood; his wallet, and his cellphone, screen cracked. David strokes the bag, desperate for any hint of Patrick; his thumb snags on the thin see through plastic of the bag and slides the wallet open. A paper heart slips out, and expands until it's the size of his hand. He can see the magic fizzing out of it like steam.

David molds himself to the uncomfortable plastic chair next to the bed and loses track of time watching the reassuring movement of Patrick’s chest rising and falling. Hs family seems to be taking shifts; one minute, his Dad is grabbing his arm; the next Steve is rubbing his shoulder. Alexis and Ted, he’s informed, are on a plane on their way back. At some point, Marcy and Clint arrive. They look as haggard as David feels; Clint’s eyes are red around the edges, and Marcy’s hands are shaking. Marcy hugs him, and David has the hysterical thought that this will be one of the last times he sees her; Patrick will die and David will never have a mother-in-law and one day her cinnamon apple cake and baby powder scent will all feel like a distant dream.

The doctor comes by, young and simpering with compassion. She puts a hand on David’s knee, because somehow David has been designated the Decision Maker, god help them all. 

“Do you know his preferences on life-sustaining treatment?”

It takes a minute to filter through what the doctor’s saying, but. Would Patrick want David to pull the plug? The worst part is, David knows the answer is yes. Patrick had made them do a bunch of life planning exercises like the nerd he was in preparation for the wedding, and in between retirement goals and savings accounts, he’d brought up the subject of living wills. David had shuddered and moved beyond that part quickly; rich David had a sense of invulnerability, but Schitt’s Creek David knew that your entire world could turn on its axis all too easily. And now here he is.

In the back of his mind, David had always figured that one day Patrick would leave, because David wasn’t the type of person to have a life-long romance, no matter what Patrick said. He just hadn’t expected it to go like this.

\------------------------------

The doctor says they can take all the time they need to think about it, but a to do list starts forming in David’s brain regardless. For all people (Patrick) tease him about being impractical and dramatic, he’s good in a crisis. All those years of bailing Alexis out, he supposes. He starts thinking of all the things that will need to be done—getting the word out to the Brewer cousins, pulling together an in memoriam video, picking out a tasteful urn for the ashes—

He thinks _color scheme_ , and the thought is so ridiculous that he can’t wait to tell Patrick so Patrick can make fun of him, only Patrick is in a coma and dying and David is 36 and going to have to pick an outfit for his fiancé’s funeral. 

“David, sweetheart, go home and get some sleep,” Marcy says, stroking his hair from where he’s still glued to the chair. Even now, she’s being so kind to him. David hasn’t washed his face in a while, and he can only imagine how greasy his scalp feels; he can’t bring himself to care. “We’ll look after him.”

Stevie drives him home; she’s chattering, trying to fill the silence, but he isn’t really listening.

He lays in bed and thinks about the days before Schitt’s Creek, when he knew powerful people and how to get favors from them. Dark magic that wasn’t technically legal, but David didn’t care if it got Alexis out of a scrape or kept his Mom from O’Ding. 

Back then, though, David had the money to buy those favors. After they lost their money, he’d tried to beg and barter someone to restore it, but nothing he’d had was enough to pay for it. Now, he has a chic but small store and a man he loves more than life itself.

He sits up.

\------------------------------

It takes him six hours to make the drive to Trixie Singer’s penthouse. He’s always thought she had such an odd name for who she was—Trixie sounded like a little girl, or a middle aged witch with reading glasses on a beaded chain who wore nothing but maxi dresses. Instead, Trixie looked like she’d walked out of a Wall Street porno; her dirty blonde hair was cut in an angled bob, and she was forever wearing stylish sheath dresses and very expensive shoes. She looked like she could snap her fingers and have you killed, and she could, only with magic instead of the mob goons that seemed like should be lurking around.

Even though he’s arrived unannounced at an unfashionably late hour, Trixie opens the door as composed as always. One slim eyebrow arches up. “David Rose. Talk about a blast from the past.”

He shoves past her. “Trixie, I need a favor.”

“Well, come in,” she says, even though he’s already inside, pacing. “Want a drink? You know I make a mean martini.”

“There’s no time,” he says, and Trixie whistles. “Wow, you weren’t kidding. What’s on your mind Rose?”

It spills out, disjointed and half-insane; he’s not sure Trixie is following at all. When he finishes, she shrugs, nonchalant. “I could do an old friend a favor for a reduced price. The curse side of things has been good lately. I’ve been having trouble getting enough ingredients to meet demand. Plenty of anger to go around, but devastation is in short supply.”

Ah. There it was. “So can you take what you need now?”

She picks at a nail. “Well, that wouldn’t last very long, now would it? It expires pretty quickly after I extract it.”

He waits. She continues.

“I’ll heal your boy. But—I’m going to take his memories of your relationship as payment.”

David swallows, thinks about how he'd woken up to Marcy crying. “What’s to stop me from just telling him?”

“Oh, dear David, you know I draw tighter contracts than that. If you tell him, the spell will be rendered void and he’ll die.”

“We live together. How am I supposed to explain that?”

Trixie shrugs. “Not my problem. But it’s not gonna fix everything in a snap; you should have time to move out.”

\------------------------------

When he leaves, small vial clutched in hand, David feels a little lighter.

\------------------------------

“I don’t know how to describe it other than a miracle,” Patrick’s doctor says, shaking her head. “He’s showing almost normal brain function—he could wake up within the day.”

Marcy stares at him after she leaves. Clint, apparently a religious man, is in the hospital chapel, praying. But Marcy’s more astute than that. Patrick had often talked about how he could never get away with anything as a kid, and David believes it. “David, what did you do?”

“He’s going to be okay, Marcy. I made sure of it.”

She stares at him. “What was the price?”

“Me,” he says, and then realizes how dramatic he sounds. That’s David Rose, always so dramatic. He figures he’s allowed to be a little dramatic right now, though. 

Marcy wraps her arms around him, and David isn’t going to cry. He’s not. 

\------------------------------

He methodically erases himself from the apartment, throwing things haphazardly into suitcases. He’s borrowed his Mom’s emergency leave your husband bag again, and he can’t help but chuckle at the irony. 

There’s a few photographs of them scattered throughout the apartment. He looks at one—a candid, David smooshing a kiss onto Patrick’s cheek while Patrick has his eyes closed, laughing so hard there are tears on his cheek. David can’t even remember what they’d been doing, but every time he looks at it he thinks _I did that. I made him laugh like that._

There’s one picture—it’s them on opening day, arms around each other, smiling at a Polaroid Stevie’d found in storage. 

It’s from before they were dating, David reasons, and leaves it on the desk.

\------------------------------

David isn’t there when he wakes up. Patrick is going to be confused enough; the last thing he needs is David’s presence. When David goes by to visit, later, Patrick’s eyes are red, and his parents are bracketing him on either side of the bed. David stands in the doorway, and Patrick smiles politely.

\------------------------------

Trying to get used to sleeping in the motel is hard, to say the least. Alexis and Ted are still on their way back, so he has the room to himself for now. The last few nights, he’d tossed and turned in his and Patrick’s bed, mind numb with grief. But now—there’s nothing to plan or think of or try. He got used to sleeping in this shitty motel once; he’ll just have to do it again.

\------------------------------

A few days after Patrick wakes up, David also wakes up, sick with a hangover, to see Alexis sitting on the bed. She looks oddly serious, and so sad, and David can’t deal with that now. He reaches over to the half empty bottle of gin in his nightstand and takes a pull. She watches, and when he puts the bottle down again, she stretches out until she’s laying curled beside him. 

When he wakes again, she’s still there. She watches him and says, “Remember when you rescued me from that hostage crisis in Venice, and the next day I was on a flight to Bahrain? You asked me how I kept going.”

He remembers very well. He’d been so afraid that he was going to be late, that he was going to have to identify her body. And she’d been fine, a little bruised. He’d been so mad at her; there she was, safe and with him, and she was immediately leaving again.

But he plays along. “You said cocaine and adventure.” 

She nods. “And you, although I‘ll deny it I f you ever tell anyone I said that. But, um, I don’t have cocaine, and honestly not even adventure, but. The store’s kind of a mess; you’re kind of a bore, so that’s probably enough adventure for you anyway.”

So he goes back to work. The first day, he doesn’t actually open, just sits around and feels Patrick’s presence and tries not to cry every five minutes. He fails miserably. When he eventually opens, Schitt’s Creek residents flood in, looking at him with gooey eyes and buying more than they need. At least this god forsaken shit show is good for business.

\------------------------------

Clint, bless him, has been texting David periodic updates about Patrick’s progress on the sly. _He was awake for most of the day today; he sat up today; he took a few steps today. He’s going to be released to a step down facility soon._ David clings to them like a lifeline, reading each one until it’s burned on his eyelids.

Apparently, in the rehab facility Patricks staying at, he’s allowed to go out for the day. David gets a frantic text from Clint, and twenty minutes later, Patrick walks in, Marcy and Clint like sentries behind him. “He had to see how the store was doing,” Clint says, clipped. “We couldn’t stop him.”

“Wanted to make sure you hadn’t spent all our money on those solid gold salt shakers the second I had my back turned,” Patrick says, grinning. He’s a little unsteady, leaning on a walker as he walks around surveying, making sure David hasn’t run the place into the ground. 

David watches him, alive and laughing. He doesn’t say anything.

“Oh!” says Patrick. He’s still smiling, staring down at David’s left hand. “You switched to gold. I’m surprised that doesn’t clash with your color palette.”

David tries to smile back. He glances at the cheap frame hold the business license to the wall. “Oh, you know, sometimes outliers make things more special.”

\------------------------------

David could try to figure out how to reverse the spell. His magic isn’t as strong as Alexis’s, but he’s resourceful; he had to be, to get her out of the scrapes she’d been in over the years.

He thinks about eating the peaches they keep in the produce bins; he hasn’t changed his emergency contact. Maybe Patrick would be summoned, confused, and fall in love with David like Sleeping Beauty. 

But he thinks about Patrick, lying in that hospital bed, and remembers there are worse things.

\------------------------------

He tries to be happy for Alexis, he really does. Ted is really good for her, and her business is thriving; after the years he’d spent begging her to stay alive, he should be thanking his lucky stars, and he is, really. He couldn’t imagine losing Alexis too. But when he sees her and Ted snuggling in the back of the cafe, he feels so sad. The worst part is, Alexis knows it. He hasn’t seen Ted as much since The Accident, and he can only imagine its because of Alexis’s machinations.

He feels like he’s losing his mind a little; like any moment, he’ll start screaming. He’s at the drug store one day, picking up tampons for Alexis, when Tina Turner starts playing over the speaker. It’s not The Best, or even something less direct but still painful like What’s Love Got to Do with It, but Proud Mary. As Tina warbles over the speakers, David starts crying, laughing hysterically. A clerk looks at him in concern. David swallows and keeps moving.

\------------------------------

“I just—“ Patrick’s saying. David isn’t surprised this is happening. “After the accident, I realized I missed my family a lot, ya know? And you’ve been great—all of Schitt’s Creek has been so great and welcoming—but, I want to be home.”

 _I was your home_ , David wants to say. He doesn’t. 

\------------------------------

Patrick waves one last time, and gets into the car. David watches it drive away.


	2. Chapter 2

Back home, Patrick rested and tried to get back to feeling like himself. He was going to be doing PT for a while, but all things considered, Patrick knew he was lucky. The doctors told him over and over again that they he thought he was dead and gone, that it was a miracle he’d survived. He spent his days sleeping a lot at first, and then sleeping a little less, pushing his body as much as possible.One day, he walked down the block and back without having to stop, and Patrick did an embarrassing fist pump in the driveway. His friends from high school stopped by, and people from his parent’s church.It was nice; Patrick was out for the first time at home, and maybe it was just the life threatening injury, but everyone seemed to be okay with him being gay.Mrs. Alexander hadn’t even stopped trying to set him up; apparently she had just as many nephews as she did nieces.

Patrick found himself thinking about Schitt’s Creek more than he expected. Thinking about David more than he expected, really.They’d become pretty good friends, Patrick supposed; David had been the first person he’d come out to, after all. _I think I might be gay_ , he’d said that night in his car after David’s birthday, unable to keep it in any longer and knowing David would understand. And David had smiled, oddly serious, and said _you can be whatever you want to be_ and _thank you for telling me_. Patrick had been so nervous to say it out loud that the memory was a little surreal in his mind.

“My mom keeps asking me if I don’t want to go back to Schitt's Creek. They said they were okay with me being gay, but I don’t know,” he told Brandon one night. He and Brandon had been close since high when they’d tried to start a two man band, and Brandon had been coming over to do stupid magic tricks to entertain him. That made him think of David again, the way he was always making little expanding pieces of confetti that he’d slip in customer’s bags. 

Brandon shrugged. “They're probably just worried about you, man. You left your life here behind; they probably don't want you to leave your life there too.”

“I don't know I had a life there, though.” Patrick said uncertainly. 

“I mean, you started a business, right? That’s pretty big.”

“Yeah,” Patrick said. He was proud of what he and David had built; prouder than anything he'd ever done. But that wasn’t a _life_. Patrick wanted to settle down; wanted to build not just a business but a life together with someone. 

\------------------------------

There was nothing like a near death experience to get you motivated about finding someone to settle down with. Patrick started going on dates, once he was well enough to be able to drive and stay awake through the salad course.None of them were especially spectacular—just as memorable as that one lackluster night with Ken—but there was one guy, Leo, who was pretentious and shallow but gorgeous. 

Patrick wasn’t sure why he kept going out with him, other than feeling wanted.There was something about Leo, though, that drew Patrick in—the way he talked about his favorite museums in Paris, his love of fancy aged whiskeys.He was passionate about things, and Patrick was discovering he found that incredibly appealing, even if Leo was also incredibly full of himself.One night, after a few too many Coke and Rums, Patrick let Leo shove him up against the wall, and it was good, in the way it never was with Rachel and the other girls. Leo filled him thick and hot. But after, Patrick felt alone, even though Leo was heaving right next to him.Things hadn’t worked with Rachel because of the obvious, but even if they hadn’t worked physically, Patrick wanted some version of the emotional connection he’d had with her. 

When he got home, he found himself staring at a picture of him and David from their opening party—Stevie had found an old Polaroid somewhere at the Motel, and she’d fluttered around their first day, taking pictures. He and David were smiling, pressed close, the store they’d built from the ground up radiant behind them. 

He’d never really considered a relationship between him and David, and now that Patrick thought about it, he was a little surprised he hadn’t. He and David had the same banter that had kept Rachel and Patrick’s relationship limping for so long, and David was gorgeous in a way that Patrick was actually attracted to. Plus, he’d worked side by side with David for two years.David was dramatic, sure, and a total snob, but he was also hilarious and kind.David liked to act like he wouldn’t give people the time of day, but underneath all of the sweater armor, David was incredibly selfless. Patrick had watched him dance with his Mom at Asbestos fest; hugged him at the surprise party David had helped organize with Ray and Marcy. 

David’s birthday was coming up. Would anyone remember this year?

The thought nagged at him over the next couple days, until he finally sent a quick text to David.With so much of Patrick’s energy consumed by getting back on his feet, he hadn’t talked to David since he’d left. _Has your Mom stolen all the moisturizer yet?_

David didn’t respond, and something uneasy stirred in Patrick’s gut.

“I’m going to visit Schitt’s Creek for a few days,” he told his parents at breakfast one morning. “Make sure David’s doing okay. With the store.”

His Mom looked at his Dad and frowned.“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”She asked, even though she’d been asking if he didn’t want to move back for weeks. 

“I’ll just be gone overnight,” he said instead, because Patrick honestly wasn’t sure.

He texted Stevie a quick _hey, gonna come into town for a day or two; got a room?_ and headed out.Even though Patrick didn’t remember his accident, every time he got in the car, all he could think about was waking up in the hospital, his parents crying beside him.By the time he made it to Schitt’s Creek and pulled up to the store, his shoulders were around his ears, and Patrick was beginning to regret coming.

When he made it into the store, David looked—bad, was the only way Patrick could describe it. There were heavy bags under his eyes that even concealer couldn’t hide, and his hair was less. . .up, then usual. His eyebrows looked a little crazy; Patrick had known that he trimmed them to keep them from going full Johnny, but it looked like he hadn’t bothered in a while. The store was fully stocked, and fairly busy, but it didn't have the same meticulous sparkle it usually had. David did a lot of the cleaning by hand (or forced Patrick to do it), but he always used a little magic to get extra glow. Patrick felt guilty, suddenly; it had obviously been hard on David to run things by himself.

“Stevie mentioned you were coming,” David said.He wasn’t meeting Patrick’s eyes.

“Yeah, um, I remembered it was your birthday; thought I’d see how you were.Maybe we could go for dinner?”

David looked, bewilderingly, like he was about to cry. No one else must have remembered after all.

David, however, shook his head. “No, I uh, have plans already.Thank you, though.” He didn't say what the plans were or why Patrick couldn't participate. 

They made small talk for a little longer: the store was good, David was handling the finances okay for now. Patrick offered to take a look, but David shook his head so hard Patrick was afraid David was going to pull a muscle. So Patrick, sensing that David very clearly didn’t want him there, left. 

He walked back to the motel, relishing the exercise. He wished he was better enough to go up Rattlesnake Point; he'd figured so much out about himself there. He did miss the town a little; waving at people as they stopped and stared at him.He guessed they hadn't expected him back so soon after he’d left. When he walked back to the motel, he was hit with a splash of nostalgia.He'd spent so many nights here, shooting the shit with David and Stevie.He walked in the lobby to find Stevie was staring at her phone, not even paying attention. “Any room at the inn?”

She looked up and, unlike David, seemed actually pleased to see him. “Patrick Brewer,” she said.“Didn't expect to see you again.”

“Oh ye of little faith.”

Whatever David’s plans were, they apparently weren’t with Stevie. They ended up in Patrick’s room with a bottle of vodka Stevie had procured from somewhere. Stevie caught him up on town gossip as they drank, recalling Ray’s latest business venture and how Roland had streaked through Town Hall.She didn’t mention David.After a while, Stevie looked at him carefully.“So, any romance in the world of Patrick Brewer?”

“There’s been a few guys,” he admitted. “Nothing serious, though.Just haven’t felt anything real, ya know?”

She nodded, looking a little wistful. Nothing going on in her love life either, he supposed. “I’m happy that you're getting there.”She put down her glass. “But sometimes the things you want are right in front of you.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Are you hitting on me?”

She snorted. “I meant a little further out.”

\------------------------------

On his way back, Patrick thought about what Stevie had said, about how strange David had seemed. He thought about the miracle of his recovery, about the stories David had told about how he got Alexis out of trouble.No one had suggested there might have been some black magic involved in such a miracle, because that kind of magic came with a high price. 

You'd have to be insanely rich to get that kind of magic.

Something began to click together in Patrick’s mind.

\------------------------------

“Brandon, need you to check me for spells.”

Brandon laughed. “Dude, did you drink too much and get your pubes turned pink again?”

“Brandon.”

Brandon sat down his beer. “Oh, okay, you’re serious about this.” He stood, and held out his hands in front of Patrick. They glowed the faintest green, and that green reached out and surrounded Patrick. It tickled a little, like he had to sneeze.

Brandon took a sharp breath and drew his hands back, cloud dissipating. “Shit, Brewer.You’ve got something heavy on you.Whoever did it—that’s some powerful shit. I’m not even sure it’s legal, but it’s way above my pay grade.”

“You’ve got some basic spells on you—some laughter spells, a few, ah, bedroom ones—nothing that I wouldn’t do with a girlfriend. But those were done by a different person than whoever did the big one.The signature’s are really different; the little ones all just seem fond and a little love sick, but the big one—it’s. . .I’m not sure how to describe it. Self satisfied, maybe?With a dash of asshole. Like a rich wall street guy cast it.”

“The smaller ones,” Patrick said, a horrible suspicion growing in his mind. “I’d know when they were cast?” 

Brandon nodded. “They’re pretty dependent on the recipient being willing to receive them, so you couldn’t have been, like, blackout drunk or something. I’m guessing you don’t remember them though?”

Patrick shook his head.

“Dude, I don’t what the fuck that big one is, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it was messing with you. That needs, like, an actual doctor to look at it.” 

Patrick had a feeling, however, that he wasn’t going to get the answer from a doctor.

\------------------------------

This time, Patrick didn’t let anyone know he was coming until he was already in Schitt’s Creek. The store looked like a mess, dirty and disorganized. David’s hair didn’t seem to have been brushed in a few days, and his precious Givenchy was stained. David looked up, startled; when he saw Patrick, he froze.

“Is there something you're not telling me?”Patrick asked, straight to the point.

“What?” David was a horrible liar; it was written all over his face. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“David—I came back from the dead, and you and my family and every one has been weird about talking about my life here—“

David was shaking his head, frantic. “No, no.”

“David, what happened?” he demanded.

David shook his head violently.“I can’t.I can’t.”

“Why not?” He was starting to get angry, now; this was his life, and Patrick needed to know.

“Because if I tell you, the spell will break, and you’ll—” David shuddered.He had started openly crying, ugly and small. “I need to—” he dashed out the back, leaving Patrick alone in the store.

“Fuck.” Patrick scrubbed a hand over his face. He looked around at the ruins of the store, at the ruins of David’s life, and tried to figure out what to do. 

David’s phone was on the counter, and Patrick walked to it like a moth to a flame. He picked it up, considering, and pressed his thumb over the home button. It instantly unlocked.

So he had access to David’s phone. Huh.

He scrolled through the call log; it was mostly Stevie and Alexis, with his parents and people Patrick recognized to be vendors sprinkled in. There were a few messages from Patrick’s Dad, of all people—he looked over them briefly and saw they were updates about Patrick’s condition. 

Then, further down, there was one incoming message: an address six hours away, sent a day before Patrick had made his miraculous recovery. 

So, something had happened when he’d had his accident, that no one in his life could tell him about. Whatever it was, it involved David.

He was going to find out.

\------------------------------

With a name like Trixie, he’d half been expecting a girl in cowboy boots and french braids. Instead, she looked like the managers at the investment bank he’d worked at in college.After knowing Moira and Alexis, he wasn’t surprised at women walking fluidly in high heels, but Patrick still recognized it was a skill. She looked at him up and down, clearly unimpressed.“Can I help you?”

“I—I think you cast a spell on me?”

She rolled her eyes. “No offense, honey, but you don’t look like you could afford me.”

“Do you know David Rose?”

The woman looked annoyed, but waved him in. “God, him again.”

“So,” she said, looking bored. “You must be David’s boy toy.”

_David’s boy toy._ She said it so casually.David had looked as if his world had been turned inside out in the store.His Mom had cried, a little, when he’d said how bad David had looked.Patrick thought about his memories of David, how some of them seemed so crystalline as to not be real.“So you did something. I need it reversed.”

“Sorry kid, no can do.”

Patrick watched her carefully.She seemed as if it the entire situation were beneath her, that she hadn’t upended Patrick’s life.“There has to be something I can do.Or—I can just ask David.”

“Are you kidding me? You’ll die if he tells you, and I get to take a percentage of his sadness for the next ten years.Let me tell you, that return on investment has been fantastic.”

”Please,” Patrick said. He needed to know.

She rolled her eyes, taking a swig of a martini she’d produced out of nowhere. “Fine, I’ll give you your memories back. I guess I’m getting soft in my old age. But it's going to cost you.”

“Name it.” 

She tapped her chin, considering. “Three days of pain to counteract what I’m going to lose on your boy. I’ll keep you alive, and at the end, you and David can go on your happy way.”

“So I get my memories back and keep them, and after a few days of pain, you’ll let us go back to normal?”

“That’s the deal.”

Patrick had come back from the dead; spent months in rehab getting his life back.He thought about the circles under David’s eyes.Three days was nothing.“Do it.”

She snapped her fingers. Patrick took a deep breath, preparing himself and—nothing.He still felt the same, and no memories had come rushing in.

“I don’t—I don’t feel anything?” He wasn’t _eager_ to be tortured, but it was better than the alternative of the spell not taking and him keeling over the second he told David.

Trixie rolled her eyes. “Please.I’m not dealing with you here, and you’re not going to be able to drive home. Friends don’t let friends drive drunk.”

“. . . okay?”

“Go back to David, and when you get settled, you'll get your memories back and the payment will start.”

Patrick was cautious as he drove home; even though he felt fine, he didn't totally trust to stay that way. But when he made it back to the store, he was still in one piece.He probably should have asked David to come to the motel, because he didn't particularly want to spend the next three days curled up in the stock floor room.

David was back, and despite everything, Patrick’s heart felt a little lighter. He opened the door, ready to move forward. “David, I remembered—“

And the damn broke.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everybody! This isn't so much a new chapter as an expanded version of the previous one. I had always intended this to be 3 parts, but I had a surprise snafu I had to deal with right before the OFN deadline (nothing serious or too bad, but massively annoying) which meant I had to end up rushing the ending. I had a little bit of down time today, so I was able to go back and clean it up a little and make it closer to the story I'd planned in my head.

“I set him up so he’ll get IV fluids and nutrition,” Ted said, hours later. He seemed to be taking this whole thing disproportionately hard, looking like he was about to cry. Patrick honestly hadn’t known Ted cared that much about David.

Once the full implications of the reversal had become clear, Patrick had to call for backup.Knowing very little about magic and health, Patrick was totally out of his depth, and his mind was overwhelmed with an endless loop of _David David David_ instead.

He’d rushed forward when David had collapsed, feeling the weight of every second of their love that had been returned to him.Coming out to David in his car had been so special because David had kissed him.The date with Ken had been so unremarkable because David had been waiting for him at home.He thought about Leo, nauseous; Patrick had been attracted to him because he’d been chasing the ghost of something _real._

The second Patrick’s hands had landed on David, David had screamed as if he was on fire.Patrick had backed away, and David immediately stopped, whimpering quietly to himself.

_Three days of pain._ That’s what he’d agreed to.And Patrick, listening to David scream and cry from the other side of the door of the joined motel rooms, was in greater pain than he could have ever imagined. 

Patrick knew the exact minute the spell started, and he kept compulsively checking his phone, watching the seconds count down.He had half a mind to drive back to see Trixie, but that was twelve hours he’d be away from David, and this was Patrick’s fault anyway. David would have been smart enough to read the fine print of a fucking black magic contract.

God, their wedding was supposed to have been two months ago, Patrick thought hysterically. He hoped to God Stevie and Alexis had taken care of things so poor David wouldn’t have had to cancel everything by himself.

Once they managed to get David back to the motel, Patrick holed up in the connecting room. Everyone was in with David, which is what Patrick wanted, but he was feeling a little lonely on his side of the wall.He listened to Stevie murmuring consolingly; _he’s dead,_ David said, and Patrick dug his fingers into his thighs to keep from bursting through the door. 

He called his Mom, instead; he’d left home in a hurry, and his parents were probably out of their mind with worry.He thought about her saying _are you sure going back to Schitt’s Creek is a good idea?_ Patrick still wasn’t sure of the answer. 

His Mom was quiet for a long time, after Patrick explained everything that had happened. “Don’t be mad, sweetheart,” she finally said. “We were all just trying to hold on to you however we could.”

“I‘m not mad, Mom,” he said, because he wasn’t. If he'd been in David’s place, he would have done the same thing. He’d _tried_ to do the same thing, and it had backfired spectacularly.He was just. . .tired.He wanted to hold David, and he wanted to stop hearing David’s screams echoing in his mind. 

“Patrick,” she said. “Marry that boy.” 

Wanting to marry David had never been the problem, though.It was everything else that seemed to get in the way.

Ted was the only one who seemed to remember that Patrick was there; he brought water periodically, and forced Patrick to eat a bland sandwich from the cafe.Patrick stayed pressed against the door, listening to David cry in his sleep. At one point, Patrick dozed off; he jerked awake to the sounds of David screaming, and desperately checked to see how much time was left.

When his phone finally, _finally_ hit the 72 hour mark, Patrick had aged a hundred years. Months of rehab, and Patrick had never felt as exhausted as he did now.The other room had gone silent save for the murmuring of Stevie’s voice low across the threshold. The door opened from behind his back, and Stevie was there, looking as tired as Patrick felt.She jerked her head towards the bed, and stepped aside so he could enter. 

David was covered in sweat, in a loose t-shirt and sweatpants that almost certainly were Ted’s. His eyes were bloodshot.He looked awful. He looked beautiful.

He sniffled as Patrick sat on the edge of the bed. “Stevie says you’re really here.”

“Yeah, David, I‘m real.”

“And you know who I am?”David’s voice cracked, just a little, and it was too bad Trixie wasn’t collecting on Patrick’s sorrow anymore, because she’d really be getting her money’s worth at the moment.

Patrick shifted until he was lying on the bed, facing David. He kissed his sweat-drenched forehead.“Yeah, baby, I know who you are.”

How could he have forgotten even the smallest detail? The jut of David’s collarbone; the line where his stubble ended. The sparkle of his eyes.Even the most powerful of magic didn’t seem like it should have been able to erase the memory of David’s smile.

David curled into Patrick, acting like he was trying to fuse himself with Patrick, and Patrick understood the impulse. 

They were here, they were alive, together, despite everything. 

He took a deep breath and held on. 

\------------------------------

They get married three days later.

Patrick wants to do it the second David is able to stand on his own again, but David insists that they give Patrick’s parents time to get to town.And even though David is just as impatient, he still wants _some_ decorations, even just a screen to hide Roland, somehow the only ordained person in the town, in the town hall.

The night before, Alexis thoughtfully vacates herself to Ted’s so he and Patrick can curl up together.Patrick’s lease had lapsed, and David hadn’t asked questions when the realtor agreed to let him out of the contract on the house he and Patrick had fallen in love with.His Mom had made brief noises about spending the night apart, but David has spent so many nights apart from Patrick already.He has no interest in adding to the count. 

Their vows in front of everyone are fairly perfunctory; they said everything they needed to the night before.

Things aren’t perfect.David still gets panic attacks when Patrick drives alone; Patrick has occasional trouble distinguishing what memories are real and which ones aren’t.(David insists he never actually ate an entire pan of frozen lasagna by himself, but he’s pretty sure Patrick doesn’t believe him).But they build the store back to its former glory, and gradually settle into a routine where the nightmare is mostly behind them.

David still takes a second, though, each night, to catalogue the changes on Patrick’s face.He no longer takes for granted that he’ll always get to see them, but even if they live to be in their 90’s, they’re still the most precious things he’s ever seen. 


End file.
